


Renewal

by eldritcher



Series: The Song of Sunset Third Age [12]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:36:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4009603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faramir is on the road to convalescence. The War of the Ring is over, the King returns to Gondor and Minas Tirith is the arena for the revelries of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth. Faramir gets the chance to meet Elrohir, son of Lord Elrond. Second sons both, with a love for lore and healing, one thing leads to another during a fine afternoon conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Renewal

The days that followed the unmaking of the Ring were golden, and Spring and Summer joined and made revel together in the fields of Gondor. And tidings now came by swift riders from Cair Andros of all that was done, and the City made ready for the coming of the King. Merry of The Shire was summoned and rode away with the wains that took store of goods to Osgiliath and thence by ship to Cair Andros; but I did not go, for now being on the path of convalescence I took upon myself my authority and the Stewardship, although it was only for a little while, and my duty would be to prepare for one who should replace me.

Most arduously did I apply myself to my duty that the healers of Minas Tirith cast me disapproving glares whenever mischance brought me to their sight. But work proved a better antidote than restless recuperation within the healing halls and my spirits were renewed. There was much to be done, for the city was tottering precariously on the ridge of poverty. The coffers were emptied and no labour was spared as I commanded the ruined fortifications on the lower levels of the city to be rebuilt. Festivities were organised. Liegemen of the crown were summoned and asked to prepare to vow their fealty to the King who would return.

Much had I accomplished and much more had I to achieve ere the King returned with the victorious armies. I sighed as I watched the sunrays playing silent chords over the cereals that had been spread on the ground to dry by our womenfolk. It was different to see my people returning to a normal life from the shadowed existence that they had endured for generations. Would that my brother had been here to see this day!

“Dark thoughts chase the sunlight from your noble mien, Lord Steward,” a warm, compassionate voice informed me.

I had never heard the voice before. I turned to see one of the Elven warrior princes who were said to be my King’s foster-brothers. I had seen them from afar, but I had not yet had the chance to bring about formal introductions. I wondered how I would distinguish between them, for they were twins.

“Elrohir Half-Elven at your service.” He sketched a charming bow which was accompanied by a slow, frank smile that immediately chased my brooding thoughts away.

“A pleasure now that we finally meet, my lord Elrohir!” I bowed and brought my hand to my heart. “I have been harried of late. But that is no excuse and I beg your pardon for not welcoming you to the city and even worse, for not thanking you for succouring us.”

His smile lingered and his dark eyes sparkled as he replied, “My brother and I were led by errantry. That it served in some manner to aid a mighty cause has me humbled, Lord Faramir. But our deeds pale in comparison to your valour and patriotism, for you held the defences with all that you were.”

“They shall speak of the bravery of the Nine Companions. They shall speak of the courageous Shield Maiden of the Rohirrim who gave us the advantage in our first victory upon the Pelennor. They shall speak of great deeds done on the warfields before the Black Gate. I had but little part in it, my lord. If Boromir had been here, he would have done more.”

“Yet the bravery of the Nine Companions and the fey courage of the Shield Maiden and the great deeds before the Black Gate would not have come to pass had not Faramir of Gondor defended Osgilliath and the river with what little he had.”

His words rung with conviction and I stared at him in apprehensive wonder. I did not believe him, for I knew that my brother would have done better had he been in my place. I sighed and turned away to watch the ravens roosting upon the battlements.

A hand came to rest upon my shoulder and gently, but firmly, turned me about to meet the dark, knowing gaze once again.

“Much needs to be done, my lord,” I said in a bid to take myself away from his company.

“I do not deny it, but you neglect your wellbeing in your devotion to duty,” he replied quietly. “You are yet convalescent. Would you be confined to the sickbed when your King rides into the city?”

“It would be no better than what I deserved,” I murmured, casting my eyes upon the fluttering banners under which my brother had once proudly stood as commander of our forces.

“Forgive me for I happen to think that your deeds deserve to be recorded in lore and song,” Elrohir rejoined. “I am a second son and I know your turmoil. I could never match my brother’s sagacity. But I know that I am unique and have my own talents. We are not less because we are after born.”

I narrowed my eyes and said composedly, “Prince Elrohir, my turmoil stems from my worry for my nation which shall need many seasons of the sun to regain its glory. It is not seated in family issues, I assure you.”

“You are an excellent diplomat, friend,” he laughed and I noticed that his teeth were even and bright. I frowned and averted my eyes, only to be fascinated by the intricately woven braid that lay heavy down the front of his tunic, curving gently above the muscles of his torso.

“I meant no offense,” he said sincerely and his voice held a tinge of worry. I looked up. His eyes were lit with concern and contriteness. “I beg your pardon if I have spoken out of turn. It is merely that you seem burdened and I experienced a chord of instinctive sympathy, since I feel that I have stood in your shoes once.”

“Did you lose one dear to you?” I asked despite my rigid decision not to engage in further conversation.

He sighed and began walking. I fell in step beside him and watched the mating butterflies flutter about as he started speaking in a low, disturbed voice heavy with the suffocation of memories long locked away.

“My mother was a beautiful woman.” He winced and said hastily, “She is a beautiful woman, though her grace is lost to these lands. Much of that has happened between your father and you have occurred in my family. I loved her deeply and her harsh words affected me the most. I still cannot understand her choices and wonder if I have done wrong by her somehow.”

I sighed. The tale of Celebrían I knew, for I had read of it in books of lore that rested high on the musty shelves of our library. But to hear the raw pain in my companion’s words was powerfully different. He had lived through it and he was living with it.

“How do you do it?”

I had not meant my voice to sound like a hoarse croak. But it turned out so and he turned, alarmed, to ascertain if I was well. I nodded weakly and asked the question again, in a stronger voice. I wanted to know.

Absently, he swung his thick braid about his shoulder and it came to strike against my arm. The scent of thyme flooded my nostrils and I breathed in deeply. It reminded me of my days in Ithilien, in the company of the Rangers; a comforting scent.

“There is no specific way to deal with it, I daresay,” he said thoughtfully, clasping and unclasping his hands. “I was unhappy, terribly so. Then my father spoke to me one day. He told me about his life. He is secondborn as I am, as you are. He had once felt what I felt then, what you feel now. I took his words to heart and gradually overcame my doubts and fears.”

“That is why you shared your past with me now,” I murmured as I finally understood the reason behind his intrusion into my brooding.

“And I apologise for having overstepped my bounds. I could not restrain my instinct which commanded me to speak thusly.”

He stepped back and bowed, clearly taking his leave. I hesitated. I had a full schedule till past midnight. But I was tired and harried. Fatigue was slowing my thoughts. Perhaps I should give up for today and seek a leisurely afternoon spent in conversation and healing. Elrohir was right. My fears and doubts had not receded with the passing of days. The nagging suspicion that Father would not have died if Boromir had been here was giving me sleepless nights. Perhaps talking of it to one who would not judge me would help.

Elrohir was already briskly walking away when I called after him, “My lord! I would be indebted to you if you would let me be your guide through these gardens. They are but a pale shadow of what they once were, but wild blooms stand defiant even amidst the debris.”

“I would be honoured to,” he said as he turned about and graced me with a wide grin. “I thank you, Lord Faramir. But do I not keep you from your duties?”

“I have time yet to perform my duties. For now, nothing would be a greater pleasure than a walk in these gardens graced by your company, my lord.”

“You flatter me!”

He chuckled and idly looped his arm through mine in a gesture of companionship that was common enough among their people. I stiffened, but hastily relaxed ere he noticed it. Boromir would not have been pleased to see me walk arm-in-arm with a man. His opinions on the matter were hidebound.

“If it is not a hassle,” Elrohir was saying, “please drop the title when you address me. I am not used to it and find that the title seems an unnecessary adornment to weigh down my name.”

His arm was warm and flush with strength as it rubbed against my flimsy tunic which I had chosen in deference to the sweltering afternoon heat. The scent of thyme, of sweat, of wild roses that bloomed in the gardens and of his rich musk pervaded my senses. I sighed and tried to chide myself for the keen interest I took in my companion.

“Elrohir,” I tried his name without the title. A low, approving laugh was the reply. I had the sudden, instinctive urge to hear that laughter again. The sun seemed to be particularly hot that day, for sweat had broken on my skin and I felt uncomfortable within my clothes, light as they were.

“Call me Faramir then,” I offered. “It would be unfair otherwise.”

“Very well then, Faramir,” he said blithely. “Lindir would have been very happy to walk in these gardens.”

“Is he fond of wild shrubs?” I asked dubiously.

“Not really,” he laughed again and I suppressed a sigh of contentment at having provoked that low music once more. “He is in charge of the gardens in Rivendell. He loves wild flowers like the ones that bloom in such profusion here. But our weather is milder and blooms last longer.”

“Is he your friend?”

“Yes, and once was my teacher. You remind me of him, his quiet grace, willingness to take on tasks and the easy smile.”

“And you remind me of the Lord Celeborn, whom I met in my youth in the lands of the Rohirrim,” I told him solemnly.

Elrohir paused in his inspection of a small scrub and upturned his face from his stooped position. His eyes were wide in amazement and he remarked, “You hide many secrets beneath that unassuming air you adopt, my friend.”

I laughed for the first time in many years and the sound seemed strange, even to my ears. I stood benumbed as I realised that I had been actually laughing. Tightness constricted my chest. I did not deserve to laugh, not when my brother had died and my father had suffered so deeply.

A familiar hot sensation prickled the corners of my eyes and searing heat clenched my throat. I turned away, but not before he had seen the first tear trailing down my face. I wondered what he would now think of me. Weak, I was weak in mind, as my father had accused me in that last fateful meeting.

Warm hands dragged me and pulled me flush against a muscled torso. I knew I had to draw away. It was forbidden by the laws of my father, such closeness between males. But when Elrohir drew his fingers in long, reassuring strokes up and down my spine, I sighed and willed my long festering grief to finally claim its due of tears. I wept for my father who had been driven mad by his beloved wife’s death, I wept for my brother who had not lived to see his dear city finally free of the shadow and I wept for myself, for all that I had blamed on my want of courage.

Elrohir’s hands continued their rhythmic, flowing movements along my spine and his lips placed a chaste kiss to my forehead. When my grief ran its course leaving me bereft, lonely, bewildered, unburdened and empty, he gathered me closer and gently drew my chin upwards so that our gazes met.

Till the end of my life I did not know if it were he or I who moved forward. We were gazing at each other, and I remember thinking that the sunlight danced in his dark eyes. I remember that his braid was a pleasant heaviness between our forms. I remember the scent of thyme, musk and wild roses. But I cannot remember whose lips made the first tentative gliding pass over skin. Yet the walls built of racial differences, cruel laws and unvoiced fears that lingered within my mind had given away, and there in the seclusion of the wild, gone-to-weed garden our lips met as we stood under the azure skies, sealing a bond of friendship and understanding that would last in the age of gold which awaited us under the reign of the new King.

“When you embrace loneliness blaming yourself for the fate that took your loved ones away, you spurn the love that many bear you. Would you do that, Faramir of Gondor?”

I shook my head wordlessly even as his words exorcised the regrets I bore. My fears and doubts melted under the warm sun as my body melted under his touch. And I knew it was truly the time for renewal.


End file.
